


to whatever end

by andrewminyards



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion In A Dress, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soul Bond, Weddings, geralt in a dress and he's the blushing bride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: “Geralt,” Jaskier exhales, and opens his eyes with a soft smile. “Gods, I can’t wait. You’re stuck with me forever, Geralt of Rivia.”“Forever,” Geralt agrees, and Jaskier curls a hand around Geralt’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Eternity, with you.”“No take-backs,” Jaskier whispers, his breathing warm against Geralt’s face.“No take-backs,” Geralt affirms, and Jaskier kisses him, sweet and tender. Geralt basks in the warmth of Jaskier’s body against his, sinking into the feeling of being loved and cherished, into the knowledge that Jaskier will be his, and he will be Jaskier’s, forever.*After five decades of travelling together, Geralt brings Jaskier to the coast and proposes. They get married in the fae realm, surrounded by their family, binding their souls together as they promise each other eternity.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 270
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #005, Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	to whatever end

**Author's Note:**

> i have departed very far from the prompt pic, i apologise for that. 
> 
> this was also extremely self indulgent lol, i mashed up several of my favourite tropes - fae jaskier, jaskier in a dress and a cape, jaskier with a dagger strapped to his thigh, geralt being absolutely smitten and Softe, jaskier picking geralt up - and put them all into a soft proposal/marriage thing

It’s time, Geralt decides. The medallion is in his pocket, has been there for weeks, a heavy weight that constantly reminds him of what he needs to do. 

It’s time. They’ve been travelling together for five decades now, and it’s been two decades since Geralt had come to his senses, demanding why Jaskier didn’t age. Jaskier had laughed at him for finally noticing, confessing to being an immortal fae prince, and Geralt had finally, finally let himself kiss the love of his life, who was _immortal_ and would be by his side for eternity, never leaving him. 

These decades have been the best years of Geralt’s life, filled with light and joy and love, Jaskier by his side every step of the way. They’ve been through everything together - hateful humans, deadly monsters, even raising a _child_ \- they’ve been through _so much_ together, and Geralt is secure in the knowledge that their partnership is forever. He’s happy to continue as they are, but he’s seen the way that Jaskier looks at couples with rings around their fingers, seen the way that Jaskier’s eyes glow with longing when he plays at a wedding, and Geralt wants to give him this one thing. 

He’s been planning this for weeks, Yennefer popping in to help him with directions, Eskel and Vesemir’s advice from months ago burned into his mind. For the past few weeks, Geralt has been subtly nudging the course of their travels towards the coast, towards what many have called the most beautiful view on the Continent. 

They’re not far now. Geralt catches the distant crash of waves against the shore, and next to him, Jaskier inhales deeply and smiles, soft and content, the salty scent of the ocean carrying on a cool breeze. 

Jaskier is gorgeous like this, relaxed and smiling as he basks in the beauty of nature, and in that moment, Geralt can see the fae in him, in the way nature calls to him, in the way he wraps himself in nature’s embrace, painting his eyes a little too blue, his features slightly too sharp, and Geralt gazes at him, transfixed, scarcely able to believe that Jaskier is _his._

Then Jaskier gasps, and Geralt knows that he must sense how close they are to the coast, the sea drawing him in. “Geralt, can we go there, please?” Jaskier begs, tugging at Geralt’s sleeve as he points in the direction of the ocean. “Please, it’ll be worth it, please!”

Geralt pretends to think about it, as if he hasn’t been planning this for weeks, relenting easily when Jaskier pouts at him. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

“How sweet of you,” Jaskier coos, pecking Geralt on the nose before he darts off, dragging Geralt with him with inhuman strength, and Geralt lets himself be towed along, smiling in the wake of Jaskier’s excitement. 

When they emerge to an endless beach, white sand glittering under the sun and fading into the crystal blue of the waves, Jaskier gasps in delight and races towards the ocean, sand kicking up beneath his feet as he laughs, wild and bright and free. Geralt follows him with warmth in his heart, watching Jaskier soak up the ocean breeze and the sun rays. 

Jaskier had always loved the coast. 

Jaskier doesn’t bother rolling his trousers up, only kicking off his shoes hastily as he wades into the blue ocean, waves lapping at his ankles. He spins around with a wide grin, arms stretched open as the ocean breeze tousles his hair. “Geralt, this is -”

He breaks off, mouth dropping at the sight before him. “ _Geralt, oh my god,_ ” he whispers, and his blue eyes glow.

Geralt is on one knee, arms extended, cradling a medallion in his hands, a hand-crafted medallion with a growling wolf wrapped around a buttercup, the metal gleaming in the sun.

Geralt had designed it himself, forged it himself, pouring his heart and soul into it, a token of his love and devotion, and now, on the coast, he offers his heart to Jaskier, cradled gently in his hands. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s heart is pounding faster than it ever has in his unnaturally long life. “My bard.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice is barely audible, fluttering in the wind, lost in the crash of the waves. 

“Half a century,” Geralt murmurs, taking a deep breath. He has - well, he _had_ a speech prepared, drilled into his head by Ciri and Yennefer and his brothers, but at the sight of Jaskier, so utterly breathtaking as he stands in the middle of the wild beauty of the sea, blue eyes sparkling in the shining sun, the words flee his mind. “Love - I - Jaskier -”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaskier repeats, taking a step closer and stretching out his arms. 

Geralt swallows, the moment stretching out in the air between them, fragile and hopeful, a beacon to the future. “Will you -”

“ _Yes_ , Geralt, always yes,” Jaskier breathes, dropping to his knees and taking Geralt’s face in his hands. “Forever, my love, I’ll give you forever and _more_ , I promise you _eternity_.”

Slowly, Geralt loops the medallion around Jaskier’s neck with trembling hands, overcome with a swell of emotion, and Jaskier chokes out a sob, tears shining in his eyes as he peppers Geralt’s face with kisses. Geralt lets him, circling his arms around Jaskier and tugging him closer, closer, ever closer. And they stay there, wrapped in each other and surrounded by the waves and the sun and the sand, nature enfolding them in a loving embrace, and Geralt basks in Jaskier’s presence, his love and his light. 

When Jaskier finally pulls back, his face is alight. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Geralt flushes. “I should’ve done it sooner, but I -”

“I don’t need you to propose to know that you love me, darling witcher.” Jaskier presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Though I must say, you never actually said the words.”

“You knew what I was asking, anyway,” Geralt mumbles. It’s not _his_ fault that Jaskier is so stunning that Geralt’s brain empties itself of coherent words. 

Jaskier lets out a tinkling laugh. “It’s been half a century. Of course I knew what you were asking.”

“Mm,” Geralt agrees, contentment brimming in his chest. “I knew that you wanted this.”

“Just being with you is enough, love.” Jaskier’s voice is as smooth as the ocean breeze as he whispers in Geralt’s ear. “This - this is just a bonus.”

Geralt turns his head, nuzzling into Jaskier’s neck. “You want to marry. You want a ceremony.”

“Well,” Jaskier starts, running a gentle hand through Geralt’s hair, and Geralt melts into the touch. “I _do_ want us to marry in the tradition of my people.”

Geralt hums, happy to marry in whichever way Jaskier chooses. After all, they’re now bound together for the rest of their long, long lives, and that’s what matters. “What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s not too different from human weddings, but it’s certainly not the same. We will be bound together for eternity.” Jaskier is talking animatedly, gaze filled with excitement, and Geralt leans into Jaskier fondly, letting the words wash over him. “It’s not like the bond you had with Yennefer, but it connects our souls, in a way. Of course, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but the fae mate for life, and this - this connects us to our beloved.”

“I want to,” Geralt says, and he _does_. The bond with Yennefer had been a mistake, one that he had rectified as soon as he could, but the thought of bonding with Jaskier for eternity - it’s something entirely different, a _choice_ to be bound together that fills him with anticipation and joy.

“We get to… share, I guess?” Jaskier purses his lips, lost in thought. “Our feelings and thoughts are connected. I can’t read your mind, but it’s just a bond that connects us on a deeper, spiritual level.”

Geralt presses a soft kiss to the furrow between Jaskier’s brows, willing him to relax. “Don’t worry, Jaskier. I’d love to be bound with you for eternity.” 

“Oh, good,” Jaskier breathes in relief. “I was worried, you know, with the djinn…”

“This is different.” The bond with Yennefer had been the result of an ill-worded wish, a bond that neither of them had wanted. This bond with Jaskier will be something borne out of mutual love and trust, a wish to be connected together for the rest of their lives. “I want to, Jaskier. I promise.”

This bond - it’s a _choice_. And isn’t that what really matters in the end? Jaskier had chosen him, and he had chosen Jaskier, and both of them had chosen to love each other. Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jaskier beams, bright and happy. “Oh, I can’t _wait_ ,” he gushes. “We’ll have to - oh gods, I get to give you my _flower_.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier gives him plenty of flowers, plucked off the side of the road, taken from a meadow, grown out of the ground with magic; he braids them into Geralt’s hair, tucks them behind his ear, crushes them into sweet, pleasant perfume. “Your… flower?”

Jaskier reaches out, fingers trailing over the flowers he had woven into Geralt’s hair earlier that day. “Right, I forgot that you don’t know. Each fae is born with a flower to be given to their beloved.” His hand drops down, pressing over Geralt’s heart, feeling the steady beat. “It’s ever-blooming, representing our eternal love, and I’m supposed to give it to you during the ceremony, which will complete the binding.”

Geralt looks at the medallion hanging over Jaskier’s neck, a symbol of Geralt’s love and devotion, and he imagines Jaskier handing him a flower, imagines forever wearing Jaskier’s token of love on his body, and he can see it - both of them keeping a piece of each other on their bodies, the flower tucked into Geralt’s hair the same way his medallion rests on Jaskier’s chest.

“You give me plenty of flowers,” Geralt hums lightly, relaxing as Jaskier’s hand returns to the flowers in his hair. Jaskier always lights up when they would come across fields and meadows sprawling with flowers and blossoms, waxing poetic about the beauty of them, and sometimes, he grows flowers when they camp, humming as he tucks them into Geralt’s hair. 

Geralt adores him for it. 

“And I will keep giving you flowers for the rest of your life,” Jaskier vows.

“I look forward to it.”

They’re silent for a while, and Geralt listens to the crash of the waves on the shore, seagulls soaring overhead, enjoying the way Jaskier’s gentle fingers run through his hair.

“One more thing,” Jaskier murmurs, breaking the silence, and Geralt hums in question.

“You know my true form?”

“Yes,” Geralt says slowly. He knows that Jaskier’s human guise is a glamour. Jaskier had ocne told him, biting his lip sheepishly, that it was one of the few rules of the fae to never show their true forms to other species, and Geralt had shrugged and never thought much of it.

“Well.” Jaskier sounds shy, and Geralt twists to look at him. “Once we’re bonded, I’ll finally be allowed to show you my true form.”

For a moment, Jaskier’s glamour slips slightly, eyes glowing a bright blue in the afternoon sun, and Geralt catches sight of a flash of sharp teeth.

A thrill of excitement runs through Geralt at thought that he’ll get to see Jaskier without his glamour, that he’ll get to see Jaskier as _himself_. “Oh?”

“I’m sorry I never showed you before,” Jaskier says apologetically, and Geralt nips lightly at a slightly pointed ear to show that he doesn’t mind. After all, he’s happy to have any parts of Jaskier that he’s willing to show Geralt. “It’s just a tradition - if we court those not of our kind, we aren’t supposed to show our true forms until we’re married.”

“I wasn’t aware that you actually do what you’re _supposed_ to,” Geralt teases, and Jaskier rolls his eyes, pouting.

“Hey, I do that sometimes!” he protests, and Geralt leans in to kiss the pout off his lips. After a moment, Jaskier murmurs, “I can’t wait to show you. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“I’ve seen… a bit,” Geralt says slowly. A glimmer of sharp teeth and too-elegant features, a flash of pointed ears and too-bright eyes, a beat of invisible wings and a nudge of long horns. 

“You’ve seen glimpses,” Jaskier corrects. “Because I trust you, but they are mere shadows to my true form.”

Jaskier is beautiful in his human glamour, and if this appearance is only a shadow of what he truly looks like…

The fae are known for the breathtaking beauty, otherworldly and entrancing, and Geralt wonders whether he’ll ever manage to get his hands off Jaskier after he reveals his true form. Probably not. He might spend the next few centuries worshipping Jaskier, and the thought pleases him to no end.

“Well,” Geralt murmurs, reaching out to stroke his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t wait to see it. I know I’ll love it.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier exhales, and opens his eyes with a soft smile. “Gods, I can’t wait. You’re stuck with me forever, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Eternity,” Geralt agrees, and Jaskier curls a hand around Geralt’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Eternity, with you.”

“No take-backs,” Jaskier whispers, his breathing warm against Geralt’s face.

“No take-backs,” Geralt affirms, and Jaskier kisses him, sweet and tender. Geralt relaxes into the moment, enjoying the warmth of Jaskier’s body against his, sinking into the feeling of being loved and cherished, into the knowledge that Jaskier will be his, and he will be Jaskier’s, forever.

It’s some time before Jaskier pulls away. “I’m finally bringing you to my _home_ , love.”

Affection sweeps over Geralt. “The fae realm?”

Geralt has never been to the fae realm before. Geralt knows that Jaskier heads back to his home sometimes - he has his own duties as a prince that he needs to fulfil, but Geralt had never asked to come, nor had Jaskier asked Geralt. The fae realm is reserved for the fae only, and for Jaskier to be inviting him now…

“The fae realm,” Jaskier confirms.

“So I’m part of the family now, huh?” 

“You’ve _always_ been part of the family.” Jaskier’s voice is genuine. “I’m sorry I never invited you before. The realm doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, and it will only accept you if we are to be bound together.”

“I understand.” Geralt traces circles over Jaskier’s palm, feeling him relax incrementally. 

“My mother will love you,” Jaskier continues. He grips Geralt’s hands tighter and says excitedly, “She’s been waiting for this for so long.”

Geralt sucks in a breath, mouth dry. “I would love to meet her.”

The prospect of meeting Jaskier’s mother daunts him - she is the queen of the fae, and what if she disapproves of him? Jaskier has already met Geralt’s family, and Vesemir and his brothers all adore Jaskier, but now it’s Geralt’s turn to meet Jaskier’s family, and it’s terrifying. He wonders if this was what Jaskier had felt the first time Geralt had brought him to Kaer Morhen - this uncertainty, this desire for approval. 

He _wants_ Jaskier’s mother to like him.

“She will _love_ you,” Jaskier reassures, attuned to Geralt’s emotions after decades of experience, and he runs a gentle hand through Geralt’s hair, letting out a small chuckle. “She might even love you more than me. She’s always saying that I need to be more sensible.”

Geralt leans into Jaskier’s touch, pushing down his worries. “You do.” And as much as Jaskier’s impulsivity frustrates him, Geralt loves him for it, loves the way Jaskier’s eyes glint with something feral and predatory when he launches himself at humans who dare to insult Geralt, loves the way Jaskier leaps into situations with wild abandon.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and smacks Geralt playfully. “Shush, you,” he reprimands, and Geralt huffs a small laugh.

“How do we get to your realm?”

Shrugging, Jaskier replies, “ Depends on when you want to get there.” At Geralt’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “I can bring you there right now.”

Geralt considers it. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Jaskier confirms, then winces slightly. “We probably should, because if I don’t tell my mother as soon as possible, she _will_ make me regret it for the next century.”

“Better go now, then,” Geralt agrees, amused. “We don’t need your mother holding this over your head.”

“And - oh _gods_ , we need to tell the others, don’t we?” Jaskier groans, turning his face to the heavens. “Yen is going to be unbearably smug.”

Geralt feels the tip of his ears heat up, and he confesses sheepishly, “I… might have told them all.” He clears his throat, gaze darting to the side for a moment. “They, um, they helped me plan it. We just need to tell them that I actually managed to pull it off.”

“Oh, you sap,” Jaskier coos, tracing light fingers over his jaw. “I always knew you were a romantic at heart, my dear witcher.”

“I - I wanted to do it well,” Geralt admits, his face warm, and Jaskier kisses his cheeks, the way he does whenever he catches Geralt blushing. It only makes him blush harder. “I, uh. I had this speech all prepared, but -”

“You got distracted by my blinding beauty?” Jaskier teases, and Geralt rolls his eyes fondly.

“You’re too easy,” he returns, biting back a laugh. “I barely had to say anything for you to accept.”

Jaskier’s face softens. “I’m easy for you, sweetheart,” and gods, Jaskier must be out to make Geralt blush, “I would’ve said yes no matter what you might have done.”

“Who’s the sap now?” Geralt mutters, ducking his head to hide his burning red cheeks, quickly switching the topic. “Um. Let’s deal with your mother first?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, giving one last poke to Geralt’s flushed face before asking, “Now?”

At Geralt’s shrug, Jaskier wraps an arm around him.

“Brace yourself,” is the only warning Geralt gets before the world is thrown into a dizzying light, his vision going blurry as the coast fades around him into a hazy fog. There’s a sensation not unlike plunging into water, and suddenly, his vision clears, and he blinks several times to regain his bearings.

Jaskier has brought them to a large hall that must be a throne room, lavish with decadent luxury while also bursting with nature, vines winding around rich oak and flowers blooming over silver and gold. The air feels different here, a perpetual chaos humming against Geralt’s skin, and there are floating lights darting through the air, illuminating the room in a warm, multicoloured glow.

Geralt had known that the fae realm would be beyond anything he could have imagined, but this - this takes his breath away.

“Julian!” A voice cries, and Geralt turns around to see a woman - no, a fae, slipping off a throne and striding towards them. She’s beautiful, with brown hair that tumbles down her shoulders in elegant waves, long horns emerging from the top of her head. Her ears are long and pointed, and she stares at them with bright blue eyes, the same colour as Jaskier’s. She is inhumanly beautiful, and as she floats towards them, Geralt makes out the lines of her wings, shimmering and iridescent, the colour matching her long, flowing dress that ripples with every step she takes.

Once she stands before them, there is no doubt as to who she is. Geralt can see Jaskier in her, in the shape of her chin and the slope of her nose, and her bearing is tall and regal when she smiles in greeting. “Why, hello. And you must be Geralt of Rivia, Julian’s witcher.”

At the words _Julian’s witcher_ , warmth blossoms in Geralt’s heart at the thought that Jaskier must refer to Geralt as _his_ to his mother, and he bows deeply. “Your Majesty.”

Jaskier’s mother lets out a laugh that chimes like bells. “Oh, no need for such formalities, my dear. Please, call me Kalina.”

“Uh,” Jaskier interrupts. His nails are digging into Geralt’s arm, slightly too sharp, the fae realm bringing out his less human features. “Mother, I want to tell you -”

Kalina cuts him off before he can finish, her eyes catching on the medallion hung around Jaskier’s neck. “You’re getting married!” she gasps, rushing to pull her son into a crushing hug. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s _wonderful_.”

“Mother,” Jaskier wheezes, and Geralt watches in amusement as Kalina squeezes him tighter, wings fluttering in excitement.

She releases Jaskier after a few seconds. “We need to prepare,” she announces, waving down a passing servant. 

“Go set up the Ring,” she commands, and the servant dips their head, hurrying away.

Kalina turns back to them, and in that moment, she really looks like Jaskier as she practically glows with elation. “I’m so happy for you two. Jaskier has been drooling after you for _decades_ -”

“ _Mother_ -” Jaskier protests, face tinted an adorable pink, but Kalina continues, ignoring him.

“- and I’ve been waiting for this moment since you met, and dear gods, did you really have to wait five decades before marrying?” 

“It’s Geralt’s fault!” Jaskier defends. “ _He_ was the one who waited! You told me not to propose first!”

“Hey,” Geralt says, scowling playfully, and Jaskier wrinkles his nose at him.

“I love you, Geralt, but you’re rather dense sometimes,” he sniffs. “It took you, what, three decades to realise that I’m not human? And another two before you decided to propose?”

“You didn’t make a move either,” Geralt points out.

Jaskier huffs. “You didn’t even properly _confess_. You just kissed me out of nowhere, you goof.”

Kalina is watching them, her eyes soft. “I’ve been preparing for this for a long time, Julian.” There’s a proud smile on her face as she looks over her son. “Now, go to your chambers. I will arrange everything, and the wedding will be held in three days.”

“In three days - Mother!” Jaskier cries, but Kalina is already striding briskly away towards the heavy oak doors.

“Go get your friends,” she calls before slipping out, and once she’s gone, Jaskier slumps, dragging a hand down his face.

“Three _days_?” he groans, and Geralt pulls Jaskier to him, taking his weight. “I thought - I just came here to inform her, not to have a wedding in _three goddamn days_.”

“She seems…” Geralt picks his words carefully. “Enthusiastic.”

“Very much so.” Jaskier words are muffled into Geralt’s neck. “Like I said, she’s been waiting to meet you for decades, but she insisted on only meeting you once we plan to marry, so it’s her own fault, really.”

Geralt chuckles. “Do you think our friends can come on such a short notice?”

“I don’t care,” is Jaskier’s mumbled reply. “I can just grab them and bring them here. Actually, you know what? I’m going to do it now.” He pulls away from Geralt, hair adorably mussed. “Just - wait a moment.”

Then he disappears in a whiff of roses, leaving Geralt standing alone in the middle of the throne room, bemused. Before he can process what’s happening, Jaskier reappears before him, clutching at a disoriented Vesemir, disappearing again to bring back Yennefer and Lambert and the rest of their family.

“Geralt, what -” Eskel starts to demand, just as Jaskier reappears with Ciri and bounds over to Geralt with a cheerful grin.

“You’re all here!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Welcome to the fae realm! Geralt and I have news for you.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, but Geralt cuts in. “We’re getting married.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps in offence. “I was going to make it -”

“You’re getting _what_? Now?” Lambert asks loudly, and the room falls into chaos as everyone clamours with a mixture of exasperated congratulations and indignation that they hadn’t been told about the marriage sooner. When Yennefer hears about Geralt’s failure to properly deliver his prepared speech, she throws her hands up with a groan.

“Are you sure you want to marry this idiot?” Yennefer asks, pinching the bridge of her nose as Ciri sighs at Geralt in exasperation.

“ _Yen_ ,” Geralt grumbles.

“He’s _my_ idiot,” Jaskier sniffs, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s waist, and Geralt enjoys Jaskier’s warm touch too much to take offence to the words, letting Jaskier pull him closer.

Yennefer sighs, but she’s smiling, clearly happy for them, and Geralt lets himself relax into the familiar company of his family - Lambert and Eskel poking fun at him, Ciri teaming up with Yennefer to tease Jaskier, Vesemir watching all of them silently but fondly, and decades ago, Geralt wouldn’t have thought himself capable of such happiness and contentment, but here he is, surrounded by his family and the love of his life, and he’s never been happier.

“So,” Vesemir clears his throat. “When’s the ceremony?” 

Everyone goes quiet, looking expectantly at Geralt and Jaskier.

“... In... three days?” Jaskier answers.

Yennefer breaks the ensuing silence with an outraged, “ _What_?”

Jaskier cringes back slightly at the violet fire burning in her eyes. “Sorry?” he offers sheepishly. “My mother is arranging everything, and she’s not someone you say no to.”

Yennefer drags a hand over her face. “I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me sooner, but no matter. _We_ are going to help with preparations,” she announces. “I’m going to find your mother and plan with her.”

Jaskier blinks. “Yen -”

“We’ve _all_ been waiting for this for _ages_ , papa,” Ciri says, folding her arms. “We’re helping.”

Kalina is more than happy to have help with the preparations, and the next few days pass in a blur as Jaskier and Geralt are whisked from place to place, picking out flowers and food and decorations and Geralt quickly loses interest, letting Jaskier choose what he likes. A wedding takes quite a lot of effort, apparently, even if the queen had been planning it for ages, and Geralt loses himself in the whirl of chaos, letting himself be pulled along by Jaskier’s joy and enthusiasm.

The prospect of a wedding has Jaskier lighting up, and he’s buzzing with joy throughout the day, going to each errand with boundless energy. Geralt watches him fondly, soaking in Jaskier’s enthusiasm, still in awe at the thought that he gets to have this for the rest of his life, that he gets to keep the light of his life at his side for as long as he lives.

Jaskier talks him through the ceremony, and Geralt commits it to memory, determined not to ruin any part of it for Jaskier. He may not enjoy planning and preparing for the wedding, but he can damn well do his part in making sure that the ceremony runs smoothly.

On the morning of the wedding, Geralt is woken up by Kalina entering their bedroom in a flurry of wings and dragging a groggy Jaskier to his feet, jostling them both from a fitful sleep.

“We’ll see you at twilight, Geralt,” she says, and Jaskier groans, blinking tiredly.

“Mmf, what -”

“We _must_ get you ready, Julian,” Kalina announces as she hauls Jaskier from the room with surprising strength, and Geralt is left blinking after them in confusion, his mind still muddled from the haze of sleep. Then, right after Kalina and Jaskier disappear from his sight, Eskel and Lambert barge in loudly, and Geralt sighs.

“Let me guess, I also need to get ready?”

“We need to get you all nice and pretty for your darling Jaskier, brother.” Lambert sounds way too gleeful this early in the morning as he yanks the covers off Geralt. “Come on!”

They barely give him time to gain his bearings before he, like Jaskier, is towed from the room, still half-asleep and disoriented. He’s brought through the golden halls to a large room, Vesemir sitting in one corner as he watches them enter. 

“This early?” Geralt grumbles as his brothers dump him in front of a mirror. 

“You need to look good for your boy,” Eskel reminds him, circling Geralt as he looks him up and down with a critical eye. “Lambert, do you want to deal with his face, or shall I?”

“What’s wrong with my face?” Geralt asks, offended. Jaskier _likes_ his face! It’s completely fine the way it is!

“I’ll deal with his face,” Lambert says, ignoring him, and Eskel nods, heading briskly out of the room.

“Where’s he going?” Geralt tries to demand, but Lambert has gripped his chin in a hand, turning his face this way and that.

“Supplies are in the corner, Lambert,” Vesemir says, waving his hand, and Lambert heads over, burying his face in the drawers before returning with a handful of small sticks and weird contraptions that Geralt has seen Yennefer and Jaskier use.

“Do you even know how to use these?” Geralt asks, eyeing the tools in Lambert’s hands warily.

“You give me too little credit, brother,” Lambert drawls as he turns Geralt’s face towards him. “Aiden and I enjoy… experimenting. Now, stay still, and let me work.”

Lambert handles the tools and cosmetics with surprising expertise, brows furrowed in concentration as he applies… things on Geralt’s face. Geralt has never been one to paint his face, but as he watches himself in the mirror, watches his features become more prominent under Lambert’s care, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind learning, if only he can see Jaskier’s mouth fall open the way it does when Geralt surprises him.

He wants to look _good_ for Jaskier.

At some point, Eskel re-enters the room with a dark fabric in his hands, and once Lambert is satisfied with his work, he steers Geralt over to Eskel.

“Strip,” Eskel commands, and Geralt obeys, resigning himself to his brothers’ mercy for the rest of the day. Eskel helps him into the fabric - a dress, Geralt realises, made of a dark blue fabric that’s silky to the touch. There are golden clasps at his shoulders, holding the fabric together in such a way that it’s draped over his chest, the sleeves falling off his shoulders and leaving them bare. He feels the kiss of cold air against his exposed back, and Eskel secures a golden belt around his fast, letting the fabric fall down to his knees in elegant folds.

The dress feels smooth and silky against his body, the colour akin to the twilight sky, and Geralt brushes a hand over his chest, wondering how it looks on him, wondering if Jaskier will like it.

“Now your hair,” Vesemir says, pointing to the chair in front of the mirror, and Geralt sighs, letting himself be bossed around.

Vesemir stands behind him and starts running a brush through his hair, working through the tangles, and Geralt closes his eyes, thrown back to the numerous times that Jaskier had tended to his hair. As Vesemir slowly works his hair into something elegant and fancy, Geralt loses himself in the memories of Jaskier, long fingers brushing through his hair with gentle tugs, gentle hands smoothing over tangled strands. 

Jaskier has always loved Geralt’s hair. Before he’d met Jaskier, people had stared at him with disgust and fear, his white hair marking him out as strange and inhuman, but Jaskier had always treated his hair with wonder and reverence, even at the beginning of their travels. 

Now, it’s become a routine every morning for Jaskier to braid his hair, and untangle the braids at night, carefully washing Geralt’s hair afterwards. It’s a routine borne out of care and affection, a routine that Geralt treasures deeply.

“Done,” Vesemir murmurs, and Geralt opens his eyes, pulled from his thoughts. Vesemir has woven several intricate braids down each side of Geralt’s head, pulling the ends together in a small bun and leaving the bottom half of his hair down. 

Vesemir tugs him to his feet, leading him to a full-body mirror, and Geralt gazes at his reflection. He looks _good_ , Lambert’s ministrations softening the harsh lines of his face, making him look bright and eager. The dress falls gracefully over his body, complemented by the elegant braids in his hair, and he stares at himself for a moment, struck by the realisation that this - this is leading up to one of the most momentous occasions of his life. 

“Thank you,” Geralt says sincerely, looking around at his family, the people who had been by his side for most of his life. “Thank you so much. This means a lot.”

Eskel steps forward and pulls him into a crushing hug. “Jaskier will love this,” he promises, squeezing Geralt’s arm. “It will be the best moment of your life.”

“Your bard better appreciate this,” Lambert grumbles, but the corner of his eyes crinkle in a smile. 

“You don’t need to thank us,” Vesemir adds. His gaze is soft as he looks at Geralt, smiling with the pride of a father. “We are your family. Jaskier is our family. All we want for you, the both of you, is happiness.”

Geralt feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away, careful not to smear the work that Lambert has done on his face. “Thank you,” he repeats, voice wavering. Gods, he loves his family so much.

Eskel grins at him, brotherly and proud. “Come on. Let’s get you married to your fae prince.”

* * *

Geralt’s heart pounds in anticipation as several fae lead them towards where the ceremony will be held. It’s almost surreal - before he’d met Jaskier, even after he’d met Jaskier, he would’ve scoffed at the mere thought of getting married, and yet, here he is now, his stomach flipping as he approaches the moment when he will be bound to Jaskier for the rest of his life. 

They are directed to a sprawling field, flowers stretching endlessly until they reach the line of the darkening sky. In the middle of the field is a ring of buttercups, a circle of bright yellow, framed by high, graceful arches of twisting vines and colourful blooms. 

It’s almost like another field in the human world, but the sight is so utterly ethereal that Geralt’s breath is stolen away. Small spheres of light bob through the air, pink and blue and gold, casting a soft glow over the field, and Geralt is unable to stop himself from reaching out a hand to try and capture one. A small green sphere of light passes through his fingers, and it feels like a soft caress. 

The fae realm truly is _magnificent_.

“Wow,” Eskel breathes, and Geralt follows his gaze to the twilight sky. There are three moons hanging in the starless sky, one so large that it takes up nearly a quarter of the sky, one the size of several suns, and one the size of the moon he’s used to, each one spilling a silver river over the field. 

It’s beautiful, utterly breathtaking, and Geralt knows that, in this moment, there is nowhere else he’d rather be. 

Eskel and Lambert arrange themselves at different points around the ring of buttercups, followed by Aiden and Coën, each holding a bouquet in their hands. Geralt and Vesemir wait a small distance away from the ring, and Geralt’s inhumanly slow heart picks up as he waits for Jaskier to show up. 

Not long after, Yennefer and Ciri emerge from the other end of the field. Geralt strains to catch a glimpse of Jaskier, but he and Kalina stay just out of Geralt’s sight. Triss follows after them, and they stand around the ring with flowers in the hands, waiting for the ceremony to start. 

Geralt looks at them, at his family, all gathered together to watch him and Jaskier be bound together for the rest of their lives, and his heart swells with infinite love for all of them. 

He’s so grateful for them all. 

Then the three moons glow gold for a second, and the ceremony begins. 

Geralt’s heart pounds loudly in his ears with every step he takes towards the ring, Vesemir’s hand a reassuring weight on his arm. Vesemir squeezes his arm in comfort, and Geralt turns his head slightly to see Vesemir giving him a faint, proud smile, a smile that says _I’m so happy for you._

And then he sees Jaskier. 

Geralt stumbles, tripping over his feet. Vesemir steadies him with a low chuckle, and Geralt hears several huffs of laughter from where his family is standing around the ring, but he doesn’t care, unable to take his eyes off Jaskier. 

Jaskier has let his glamour fall fully, his true form illuminated by the moonlight in its full glory. He looks like his mother, features regal and elegant, with delicately pointed ears adorned with silver and gold. Swirling golden lines trace over his sharp cheekbones in whorls and spirals, and a wreath of buttercups sits on his head, as regal as any crown, framing long horns that curl towards the sky. His blue eyes glow bright in the night, and when they meet Geralt’s, he beams in delight, sharp teeth glinting between pink lips. 

He’s dressed like a true fae, a long dress spilling over his body, made of a translucent, flowing material that ripples with every step he takes, hugging his body in all the right places. The dress is sky blue at the shoulders, slowly darkening to the colour of the twilight sky at the bottom, and it’s embroidered with lines of flowers that swirl down the dress in a glittering cascade. Geralt can make out the lines of Jaskier’s body underneath the sheer material, lines that are carved deep into his memory from decades of exploration.

A long cape is attached to Jaskier’s broad shoulders, flowing behind him as he strides towards the ring, a gossamer blue that ripples like the ocean, and underneath it, iridescent wings shimmer in the moonlight, fluttering in anticipation.

Geralt’s gaze travels down, and his mouth dries when he spots the slit that runs up the dress, revealing a thick, shapely thigh, gilded by the same golden swirls that decorate Jaskier’s cheeks. Jaskier has strapped a long dagger to his thigh, a sharp, deadly thing standing out from the rest of his appearance, so graceful and elegant, and it’s so perfectly _Jaskier_ that Geralt’s heart skips a beat, knowing that that this ethereal being before him is more than capable of snapping him in half.

This is the first time that Geralt has seen Jaskier in his true form, and he aches to _touch_ \- Jaskier is exquisite, so ethereal and wondrous and breathtaking, and what has Geralt done to deserve the love of this perfect being, to be allowed the privilege to be bound to him forever?

Jaskier is smiling at him, bright and sharp and eager, and Geralt is helpless to do anything but smile back and bask in the warmth and love of Jaskier’s smile. It’s only Vesemir’s steady hand that keeps him from tripping over his feet yet again, rendered a lovestruck fool in the face of Jaskier’s full glory. 

They step into the ring at the same time, Kalina and Vesemir breaking off to take their places around it. Jaskier is as tall as Geralt in this form, and he reaches for Geralt, who grasps Jaskier’s hands gently, the contact sending a rush of warmth through his body. Jaskier’s eyes reflect the silver glow of the moons as he looks at Geralt, bluer than anything Geralt has ever seen, and there’s an endless love in his gaze that Geralt knows is reflected in his own. 

Ciri clears her throat, her face lit in a proud smile as she looks upon them. “Under the light of the silver moons, we are here to witness the eternal union of Jaskier, prince of the fae, and Geralt of Rivia.”

The floating spheres of light all glow silver, and Geralt stares, transfixed, unable to look away from Jaskier as his face is bathed in a silver light. 

“May the light of the world bless them and grant them happiness as they are bound together for eternity, bound by a love stronger than any force in this world,” Ciri continues, and Geralt smiles softly at Jaskier. _A love stronger than any force in this world_. “May they always find their way back to one another, their love never ceasing. Let us give them our blessing.”

Over the years, they’ve always found their way back to each other, and they will continue to do so in the future, a constant in each other’s lives even as the years pass by.

He will never leave Jaskier.

Jaskier grips Geralt’s hands tighter as every person around the circle tosses a flower towards them, a rose and a peony and a bluebell, a sunflower and a daisy and a daffodil, surrounding them in a rainbow cascade of blooming blossoms. 

Magic hums in the air, and the floating lights pulse, the three moons glowing brighter for a second as everyone murmurs in unison, “May their love be eternal.”

Jaskier lets out a long exhale, and Geralt feels a sharp spike of chaos just as a small yellow blossom appears, cupped in Jaskier’s hands. Beaming brightly at Geralt, Jaskier presents the buttercup to him, reaching up to tuck it into his braids. 

The moment the buttercup brushes Geralt’s skin, he’s overwhelmed by _sensation_. He feels everything at once, pulled from reality as he’s engulfed in the feeling of _Jaskier_. Then an overwhelming sense of love fills him, _Jaskier’s_ love, sweet and warm and bright, and Geralt feels buoyed by it, like he can reach out and touch the heavens.

Memories flash through his mind - no, not his, but _Jaskier’s_ memories. A dark tavern in Posada, a witcher brooding in the corner, intrigue and curiosity at the lonely figure. An intimate bath, _and yet, here we are_ , leading to a grand banquet in Cintra, and a child surprise. A djinn in Rinde, his throat closing up, choking and sputtering as violet eyes fill his vision. Heartbreak on the top of a mountain, the wind as biting as Geralt’s harsh words as he walks down, broken and alone. 

A reunion in Redania, a child surprise in tow, joined later by Yennefer. A winter in Kaer Morhen, a growing family upon meeting Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert. Years and years spent together, raising Ciri to be a bold, fearless young woman, their daughter, their family. Travelling throughout the Continent over the decades, and later, a confession over a crackling campfire, an admission of immortality. 

_We have forever, Geralt_.

Years spent in utter happiness, the decades bringing them closer and closer. A stuttered proposal as waves crash on the coast, a moment of disbelief followed by a surge of joy and love, a promise of eternity. 

Then Geralt sees himself through Jaskier’s eyes, his hair as silver as the moons in the sky, a bright yellow buttercup tucked through the pale strands, and the sight of the buttercup sends a thrill through him, Jaskier’s mind murmuring _minemineminemine forever._ His golden eyes are bright and warm with affection as he gazes at Jaskier, pink blooming across his cheeks, and Geralt feels tender wisps of fondness from Jaskier caress his mind, a whisper of infinite adoration. 

Jaskier’s eyes trace over Geralt, lingering on the way the drapes of his sleeves emphasise the curves of his arms, the fabric falling in graceful folds down his body, and Geralt feels Jaskier’s wonder, _what have I done to deserve this wonderful, brave, beautiful witcher_ , feels his joy at the prospect of spending the rest of their lives together.

And Jaskier’s love - there’s so much love, a love as strong as Geralt’s own but one that feels so different. Geralt’s love is slow and steady, a thrumming constant; Jaskier’s love is bright and fierce, burning with unending passion, and Geralt sinks into the sensation of Jaskier’s love for him, utterly awed at the sheer _strength_ of Jaskier’s love, filled with wonder at how much Jaskier feels for him. 

There’s a tug around his heart, and he feels a bond forming, Jaskier a humming warmth on the other end, and Geralt reaches out, feeling Jaskier’s consciousness entwine with his, and he knows that this - _this_ is forever. 

“It is done.” Geralt can hear the quiet joy in Ciri’s voice, but he can’t focus on anything but _Jaskier_ , the humming bond open wide between them as wave after wave of love and happiness crashes into Geralt. “Jaskier and Geralt are wed under the silver moons, and their union shall be eternal.”

_Eternal._

Jaskier’s eyes are bright, brimming with tears of joy, and he sweeps Geralt off his feet in one smooth motion. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s neck, laughing brightly even as tears stream down his face, overcome by endless happiness as Jaskier dips him into a long, sweet kiss. 

This kiss is different than any kiss they’ve had. The bond lies wide open between them, thrumming with love from both ends, and Geralt gasps into the kiss, feeling his emotions mingle with Jaskier’s, a wondrous entanglement of thoughts and feelings and the knowledge that they have been bound together by their love and adoration and devotion. 

Then he feels himself being lifted into the air, and Geralt opens his eyes to Jaskier’s iridescent wings beating a steady rhythm, holding both of them aloft, his translucent cape fluttering behind him in a gentle breeze. Jaskier deepens the kiss, sharp teeth nicking at Geralt’s lip, and he clings tighter to Jaskier, bringing their bodies closer, and he feels _whole_ , his soul filling with _JaskierJaskierJaskier_.

“I love you,” he whispers against Jaskier’s lips, breathless and trembling, opening up his heart and trying to communicate his love for Jaskier through the bond, and Jaskier gasps slightly as Geralt’s feelings flood into him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, holding him closer, tighter. “Gods, I love you. I love you so much, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life, for the rest of eternity, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” Geralt replies, breathless. “I’ll have you forever, Jaskier, and I’ll love you forever.”

Jaskier kisses him again, their shared love pulsing through the bond as Jaskier slowly flutters to the ground and sets Geralt on his feet. Neither of them can bear to part with the other yet, and Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s hand like a lifeline. He never wants to let go.

Then the familiar sound of a lute being strummed rings through the air, and Geralt twists to see Eskel with a lute in his hands, plucking out soft, delicate notes, his fingers dancing skilfully after years of Jaskier’s careful guidance.

“Shall we, my love?” Jaskier asks, his arms settling on Geralt’s waist. Eskel starts crooning the beginning notes of a song - a song Jaskier had written on a quiet morning years ago, a song that he’d serenaded Geralt with - and Geralt loops his arms around Jaskier’s neck with a giddy grin.

“We shall.” 

They start swaying to the song, the melody gentle and lilting, and Geralt follows Jaskier’s lead as they move to the music. Jaskier’s cape sways behind him as they dance, moving slowly around the ring, and Geralt lets himself drink in the wonderful sight before him, lets his eyes roam over the pointed ears and graceful horns and sharp teeth, lets his gaze wander downwards, admiring Jaskier’s broad body through the sheer fabric of his dress.

He gets to savour this view for the rest of his life.

Distracted, Geralt accidentally steps on Jaskier’s bare toes, and Jaskier giggles, high and bright, as he wrinkles his nose playfully.

“See something you like?” Jaskier purrs, and Geralt drops one hand to brush against Jaskier’s bare thigh, exposed by the slit in his dress, tracing the golden lines that adorn his skin. 

“You,” Geralt answers, letting his other hand caress Jaskier’s face. “Always you.”

The music comes to a stop, and Geralt lifts Jaskier’s medallion, bending his head to press a soft kiss to it. When he raises his head, Jaskier is looking at him with tender eyes as he reaches for the buttercup tucked into Geralt’s hair, and they stand there for a moment, grasping at the tokens of their devotion to one another, basking in the knowledge that they have dedicated their lives and their souls to each other.

A watery sniffle breaks them out of the trance, and looking around the ring, Geralt catches tearful faces and proud smiles before Ciri launches herself at them, pulling them into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she chokes out, and Geralt curls his arms around her and Jaskier as the rest of their family piles around them in a massive embrace, the scent of joy mingling with the sweet floral scent from the field.

Surrounded by his family, Jaskier’s love running through him, Geralt’s heart feels impossibly full, and he meets Jaskier’s bright blue eyes, sparkling with infinite joy.

“I love you,” Jaskier breathes, and Geralt feels the devotion in his words, a promise of eternity.

“I love you,” Geralt whispers back, and his heart blooms and swells and overflows with warmth and happiness and love. 

Forever, he thinks. They have forever.

* * *

**here are the dresses i used as inspiration!**

_jaskier's dress is a mixture of[these](https://lacetulle.tumblr.com/post/620295792478044160/have-you-already-made-a-post-of-your-favorite) [two](https://fashion-runways.tumblr.com/post/187866563306/marchesa-couture-springsummer-2019-if-you-want)_

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* * *

_geralt's dress is something like[this](https://lacetulle.tumblr.com/post/621276409484165120/what-are-your-favorite-ancient-greek-inspired), but dark blue and ending just past the knee_

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**Author's Note:**

> this sounded like a much better idea in my head oops, congrats on making it this far!
> 
> can you tell that i have no idea how western traditional weddings work so i made up my own? i also know nothing about how to describe dresses and it shows, i hope the pictures helped a bit!
> 
> come find me on tumblr [@jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/)!


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